


still bravely singing

by canardroublard



Series: Fictober 2018 [9]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Humor, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 16:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16267949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canardroublard/pseuds/canardroublard
Summary: Miss Fisher isn't weak. Jack knows this. But he's also only known her a couple of weeks, and regardless of how tough she seems, there's some things that no one should have to witness.Jack Robinson isn't sexist. Phryne knows this. But she has very little time for his protective nonsense. That's something she has to nip in the bud. After all, she's got a body to view.





	still bravely singing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober 2018, for the prompt "You shouldn't have come here."

 

 

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The second Jack says it, he realizes what an absurdly _pointless_ thing it is to tell Miss Fisher. He’s only known her a couple of weeks, but it’s no surprise when she barges past him with an airy quip and a jaunty greeting to Hugh.

“No, I mean it,” he tries again, going after her, surprised that he has to break into a lope. She’s quick when she wants to be. “This isn’t our average crime scene, if there is such a thing.”

She doesn’t even break stride. “Sounds delightfully intriguing! Well, except for the victim, of course.”

“Miss Fisher, _stop_.”

Rather shockingly, she does stop. Though she looks distinctly fidgety. “What could possibly be so scandalous that you think it too much for me? If it’s about sex, then don’t bother. Surely you’ve heard the rumours about how I live.”

Yes, he _has_. But Jack ignores that. “No, Miss Fisher, believe me when I say that you might be the first person I would call for such a case.” For this attempt, rather weak, at wit, Miss Fisher rewards him with a cheeky smile. Jack also ignores how it makes something flip-flop in his stomach. “This is…brutal. A man was, well, butchered. No one should have to see it.”

“Oh, is that all? I’ll be fine.” Then she sets off again, black hair bobbing, coat swinging in her wake. This impossible woman is already halfway to driving Jack mental. He jogs after her, setting his hand on her shoulder.

Instantly, she whips around, jerking her shoulder free, and gives him such a glare that, despite himself, he shrinks for a second. But he presses on.

“He was _torn apart_ , Miss Fisher. They’re still looking for all of the pieces. I know you’ve got a tougher stomach than most, but please, _go home_.”

Suddenly there’s something determined burning in Miss Fisher’s eyes. “I will thank you to remember, Jack, that I am not ‘most’. Furthermore,” she continues, “you think I haven’t seen men butchered? It’s none of your bloody business, but I drove an ambulance in France. I saw men _die_ those deaths and worse. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll not mollycoddle me, because then we’ll have to do this all over again and it’s quite frankly a dreadful waste of everyone’s time. Now, I’m going to view the body. Unhindered. Are we clear?”

She stares at him, awaiting his response. Jack clears his throat, pushing past a sudden swell of his own memories from the war. _God_ …

“Uh, yes, Miss Fisher,” he manages, perhaps even more brusque than usual, but she doesn’t comment. “I will ensure your unhindered access to all of my grisliest crime scenes.”

She gives him another grin at that, even as they come into sight of the body. Somehow, despite the blood spatter and scattered limbs, Jack feels his mood lift. She’s impossible, yes. But she's remarkable, too. Perhaps he could grow used to this.


End file.
